


And I Am Far From Home

by hilaryfaye



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: First Meetings, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-25 19:08:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hilaryfaye/pseuds/hilaryfaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandy hears a song he did not expect to ever hear again, and meets a figure in the woods. </p>
<p>Movie Canon combined with book pre-history.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I Am Far From Home

_"The bee is in the lavender,_  
 _The honey fills the comb,_  
 _But here a rain falls never-ending_  
 _And I am far from home."_  
\--Jacqueline Carey, _Kushiel's Dart_

  
It was a song that drew the Sandman's attention from his work. 

He was in the middle of shaping a lovely dream for a girl who missed her father, a little of a memory mixed with the happy fantasy of the dreamsand. Toothiana had helped him craft this one, very carefully, for such things must be handled gently. 

But the song distracted him, and gave a bittersweet tone to the dream. 

It was low, and the singer unskilled, but there was no mistaking the sincerity in it--the longing and regret. But more importantly, it was in a language that Sanderson Mansnoozie had not heard in a very, very long time. 

Sandy finished the dream as best he could, and drifted out the window, his curiosity piqued. Who, after all this time, would know that language well enough to speak it so flawlessly? And who, who on Earth would know that song so well?

It was a song Sandy was familiar enough with--soldiers had often sung it, when they had been too long gone from home. It had not been nearly so well known among the civilians, and it had been a rarity for one of the constellations to even know it existed. (Sandy had not reflected on those days in a great while, but still his mouth twisted bitterly when he thought of the many things that the great constellations had not known--or had chosen not to know.)

He followed the sound, wondering at how it led him further into the dark. 

He traced it, at last, to a darkened corner of the woods. 

The tall, slender figure stood at the edge of a steep hillside, one palm pressed to the rough bark of a fir tree. He didn't notice Sandy's approach, and carried on with his song, softly. 

A frown creased Sandy's face as he listened. He felt that there was something in that voice he should recognize--or perhaps it was in the posture, the bearing. He couldn't pin it down, but something--something about this singer in the dark woods, was so naggingly familiar. 

He fell silent and leaned against the tree, and after a long moment--"I know you are there, little stranger." 

Sandy caught his breath, and did not move. 

"I can feel you there. What's a star doing all the way down here?" The figure turned, and Sandy paled. 

This was the enemy that Tooth and the others had spoken of--the boogeyman, the fear-monger who went by Pitch. 

But for the moment, Pitch did not seem too intent on destroying all that was good in the world. He merely regarded Sandy in silence for a moment. "Do you know that song?"

After a moment, Sandy nodded.

"I know the words, but I don't know how I came by them." Pitch half-turned, his eyes sliding again to the valley below. "Something not even half-remembered."   
Sandy cautiously came forward, keeping alert--but it seemed that they were alone. 

_It is an old song._

Pitch glanced at him. "Is it?"

Sandy looked up, startled. It was rare that anyone could perceive his silent communications at all, let alone so clearly. 

"An old song," Pitch mused. "Then I suppose I must be old as well." 

The breeze rustled in the trees, and somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled. The air had that cool threat of rain. 

"Do you have a home, little man?" Pitch asked.

Sandy thought of his island, and nodded.

"Hmm." Pitch looked out over the dark valley. "I've been in every corner of this Earth, and always I feel I am very far away from something." He looked skyward. "And I do not know what it is that I wish for." 

Sandy thought of the old days--of when soldiers sang that sad and lonely song together, wishing for home and light and warmth. He shaped in his hands a little dreamsand butterfly, and then another, and another, until a dozen or more fluttered in the air around them. 

Pitch watched them with a detached amusement. "Adorable," he said, brushing a hand through the air, catching one on the edge of a finger. "So you're the one they call Sandman." 

Sandy nodded again. 

"I wondered when I might be meeting you." Pitch's long fingers curled gently around the butterfly's fragile wings--and then crushed it within his palm. 

Sandy had to stifle a gasp, but he must have looked horrified, because a cruel smile crossed Pitch's face. "Didn't they tell you about me?" He shook the gold dreamsand from his palm, and stepped toward a shadow. His voice echoed even after he vanished. "Keep your little tricks to yourself, Sandman. The next time we meet, I may not think of you so kindly."


End file.
